


Wag and Tuck Our Tail

by doctor__idiot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10x17 "Inside Man", Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Episode Related, Fix-It, M/M, Sibling Incest, Top Sam, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:13:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3709419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The darkness that surrounds us knows more about us than we do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wag and Tuck Our Tail

**Author's Note:**

> Set right after 10x17.
> 
> I don't even know what this is. The ending wasn't supposed to be this angsty.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything here, unfortunately, except for the idea. Unbeta'd.

The door opened quietly, hinges well-oiled but still noisy in the utter silence. Sam didn’t bother turning around or hiding the paper he was still clutching.

Dean cleared his throat behind him. “Sam?” Ambling closer, bare feet and rolled-up shirt sleeves, “Whatcha readin’?”

Sam folded the paper tidily, unfolded it again, re-folding it a couple of times without there being a point to it. “It’s ... a letter from Bobby.”

The noise Dean made wasn’t quite a gasp but it was something in the vicinity, green eyes wide and surprisingly vulnerable. “ _What_?”

Sam sighed. “Dean, there’s something I gotta tell you.”

“I think so.”

Nodding. “I— I am—” How did he start this? And more importantly, how did he finish this without Dean losing it before he even got the whole story out?

Dean sat down on his bed, gingerly as if he was hurting but Sam didn’t think that was it. Dean was unsure, out of his depth and uncomfortable. Sam couldn’t remember when there had been a time _he_ had been uncomfortable in _Dean’s_ presence; not-knowing-what-to-do-with-himself uncomfortable, not my-brother-is-an-idiot uncomfortable. A knife twisted in his gut and he refrained from sitting down next to his brother even though he wanted to.

“I know you’re gonna get mad but at least let me explain all of it first,” he settled on, shaking his hair out of his face.

Dean looked confused but he nodded, didn’t press on.

Sam twisted his hands together. “I know you’ve given up and you don’t think there is a cure, or maybe you do think there is one and you just don’t want it, whatever, but I don’t wanna give up. Not on you. Never on...” He trailed off, fingers nervously dog-earing the paper in his hands.

“Anyway, you might have noticed, we were kinda out of options here, so Cas and I,” he took a deep breath, set his jaw, “we were gonna free Metatron from his cell because he was the only one who knew something about the Mark.”

“You _what_?”

Sam cringed, straightening his shoulders. “Listen first, Dean. Be angry after.”

Dean huffed but, to Sam’s rare astonishment, shut up.

“Well, the angels wouldn’t let us into heaven, so we needed someone on the inside. There’s this medium, ‘s not important. What’s important is that we did manage to bust Metatron out.” He cast his eyes down. “Turns out, he doesn’t know jack after all and we didn’t just waste time and effort but now also have to deal with him somehow. Cas is taking care of that.”

“Taking care of it?”

“Metatron said he knows where some remnants of Cas’ grace are. They ... took of. I don’t know anything.” He shrugged. “Told him to holler if he needs any help.”

Dean looked at him. Scrutinized him. It was disconcerting and strangely amazing at the same time. Dean didn’t pay much attention to Sam anymore, not really, not in the way Sam wanted him to. Whenever their eyes met, Dean’s usually cut away after a second, it was all sarcasm and alcohol and Sam wasn’t sure how long he could keep going like this.

“You shoulda told me.”

“Yeah.”

Weirdly enough, Dean smiled. Sam had expected a little more anger, a little less placidity. “So, Bobby was the inside man?”

The corner of Sam’s mouth curled upward in return. “Yeah. He did a damn good job, too.”

“He never half-assed anything.” Dean wasn’t looking directly at Sam when he said it, rather started at a spot on the wall, not focusing on one thing in particular. His jaw clicked. “Fuck, I miss him.”

Sam nodded, sharing the sentiment, first thing in awhile he and Dean undeniably had in common. Figured it would be related to tragedy. “Me too.”

Dean brushed a hand through his hair and if it hadn’t been dark and Sam hadn’t been tired he might have been adamant about the tremor he thought he saw but as it was he couldn’t be sure. “Can I read it?”

At first, Sam didn’t know what his brother was referring to until his gaze fell to the nearly crumpled paper between his fingers and he quickly handed it over. The letter was addressed to him but everyone and the universe knew, what was his was Dean’s as well. It wasn’t his secret to keep.

Dean’s eyes skimmed the page, roamed the lines, his breath stuttering with every period, and Sam waited. Dean’s legs were tucked under him, his jeans hanging low on his jeans, one side of his collar sticking up. Sam’s hands itched to fix it but it wasn’t basic OCD, it was the need to touch Dean, breathe the same air, and that wasn’t okay.

Sam tucked his fingers under his thighs.

Dean read the letter to the end, folded it up overly neatly, eyes glued to his socked feet. There was a tiny hole, big toe peeking through. He looked twelve years old and it made the twinge of want in Sam’s gut that much worse.

“He didn’t have any idea what’s been goin’ on down here, did he?”

“No. He’s been enjoying his little slice of heaven as far as I could tell.”

Dean didn’t look up, “’S just. I’ve always imagined them watching.”

Sam was about to ask whom his brother meant when it occurred to him. “Mom and dad?”

“Yeah.”

Honestly, Sam hadn’t thought much about it. But he wasn’t the one who had been told that angels were watching over him as a kid.

“I... Yeah, I guess that would be... Honestly, I don’t know if I’d like that. There are some things I’m glad they didn’t have to witness.” He winced. “That came out the wrong way.”

Dean was already nodding, though. “I get what you mean.”

“Bobby said it was good to hear from us,” Sam said casually, taking the focus off their parents because there wouldn’t come a time where that wouldn’t be a sore subject. For either of them.

He laughed and was surprised to hear it only sounded mildly forced. “He ... Uh, I think he’s a little bored.”

Dean’s mouth turned up, although he was still staring at the ground. “I can imagine.” Then, “I’m kinda glad he got out, though, even if...”

He trailed off. _Even if it hurt like hell._

They had both lost so much and when Dean finally looked at him it was written all over his face, _I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you, too._ And in the face of current events also _Please, please let me go first._

Sam felt the sting of it deep, deep and ugly, and his body jerked in Dean’s direction, instinctive and not unlike a Pavlovian response.

Dean’s shoulders were screaming for comfort, whole body visibly at war with his mind. He would sooner cut off his arm, preferably the one with the Mark, than admit he needed something. Especially if it was Sam whom he needed.

Finally, Sam made the decision for him, sat down on the bed and scooted across the mattress until he could fold his legs under him, knee pressed into Dean’s side.

They both breathed a sigh and if it sounded relieved nobody mentioned it.

“Dean—,” Sam said at the same time as Dean said, “There might be a lead.”

“What?”

“I,” Dean cast his eyes away, “I, uh, had a run in with Crowley.”

Worry bubbled up in Sam, settled under his ribs. “What happened?”

“Nothing. He wanted to talk.”

“Crowley wanted to _talk_?”

“Apparently not even the King of Hell is immune to rebelling against his parents. Anyway, he said Rowena might be able to find some way to get rid of the Mark.”

Slowly, the worry blossomed into something akin to fear. “You wanna use Rowena to get rid of the Mark?”

“I don’t know, Sammy,” Dean exhaled heavily, “I’m merely repeating what he said. She seems to be interested in turning me back into a mere mortal. She’ll probably be our next problem once I am but it could be something.”

The look in his eyes clearly stated this information was for Sam’s benefit. Sam didn’t even know anymore whether he should be angry or hurt or scared that Dean had made peace with a fate that might possibly be avoidable. He was all and he was neither and he decided he needed to believe for the both of them. They had averted bigger things after all.

“We’ll find a way,” he said, not caring that Dean would see right through the uncertainty and the desperation because if nothing else he had to see the determination and that had always been the Winchesters’ best asset.

Dean nodded jerkily, “Thanks,” he breathed and Sam knew Dean’s trust in him was as much as he could ask for.

With them sitting so close, sharing heat and air, there were other things he wanted to ask for but he wasn’t positive Dean would allow it. Truthfully, he hadn’t let himself think about it for months because he would have gone crazy. Repression was another asset the Winchesters had, not always healthy but desperately needed.

“Sam.”

“Hm?”

Sam hadn’t registered how intently Dean was looking at him and now that he did, it hit him out of nowhere. He was unsure of who moved first but it didn’t matter when his mouth suddenly closed over Dean’s carotid artery, pulse a hummingbird under his tongue, and Dean’s hand fisted tightly in his hair.

Dean made a little gasping noise and Sam pushed his hands under Dean’s shirts, shoving one off his shoulders, the other over his head.

Dean’s naked skin was more than he had let himself hope for in weeks and he bit skin, marking other places on Dean’s body than his right forearm. Dean’s mouth pressed into his hair, Sam could feel his damp breath, the rapid bursts of air and the little hitches. It made him want to never give this up again.

Dean rid Sam off his shirt, calloused hands against his skin, incredible, and kissed him briefly. He pulled away before Sam got to enjoy it, lips tingling, and turned around, hands gripping the headboard, asking for comfort the only way he could.

It was more than desire that propelled Sam forward now, fitting himself against Dean’s back, one arm wound around Dean’s waist, chin tucked against his neck, it was more than the end of abstinence. It was the need to make it _okay_ , it had always been about that, comfort and familiarity blooming into something more intense.

Sam didn’t have lube but he did have lubricated condoms and it would have to do. They didn’t bother with undressing further, he simply tugged Dean’s jeans down to below the swell of his ass and undid the fly on his own pants.

He sucked his fingers into his mouth, cursory, pushed them into his brother without hesitation. Dean’s knuckles turned white on the headboard but he didn’t react otherwise.

It wasn’t ideal and they should take their time for this but it was dark and neither of them was good with patience, especially not after such a long time.

When Sam finally sunk into his brother, head dropping to Dean’s shoulders, it was clichéd but it was a bit like coming home. Dean was still mostly silent, only the last two inches finally wrestled a groan out of him and, _Jesus_ , how much Sam had missed wringing those noises out of him.

There wasn’t enough lube and it was a lot to take but Dean’s right hand had left the headboard and, reaching back, it pressed just into the small of Sam’s back, fingers splayed and Sam couldn’t have pulled away even if he had wanted to. With a few experimental rolls of his hips, Dean’s spine melted, fitting itself along Sam’s chest, his head hanging low. His fingers flexed and dug into Sam’s flesh.

Starting with slow thrusts he worked up to it and although he didn’t have much leverage in this position, Dean’s hands were on the headboard again and he was pushing back at just the right moments. They fell in sync the way they used to do, the way they did with everything else. _God_ , how had he lived without this for so long?

Dean laughed breathlessly and Sam realized he had said that out loud but since his brother didn’t disagree or make a snide comment Sam figured they were sitting in the same boat. He deepened his strokes, dragged his hands over Dean's thighs, his sides, his cock, bit at his neck, and Dean made those beautiful little breathy noises. Sam soaked them up like he did words on a page, let them live and vibrate under his skin.

He locked his lips on the spot below Dean’s ear as he jacked him almost lazily, pressing his thumb against the tip, holding Dean tightly when he jerked in his arms.

Dean moaned, “Sam,” and it was the first word he had said since they had started this and it had that much more impact because of it. Sam squeezed his eyes shut against Dean’s sweaty shoulder, taking in the smell of his brother, the familiar scent of musk and denim. When his orgasm came it was definitely one of the more intense ones he had had so far.

They probably would have collapsed onto each other if Dean hadn’t been still gripping the wooden board and Sam hadn’t been holding on to him, both arms wrapped around his waist, forehead pressed between his shoulder blades. His quick wet breaths were hitting Dean’s skin and he sensed a shiver that could have been the cold air in the room, could have been something else entirely.

He grinned, exhausted, because he couldn’t _not_ and Dean very briefly leaned into him, presumably gathering strength before he pulled away. Sam wanted to drag him down to the mattress, curl around him. Maybe never let go. His fingers itched with the desire but Dean was already out of reach.

Rolling gracelessly off the bed, Dean pulled his jeans up, grimacing at the mess on his stomach that soaked his clothes. He fastened the button with unsteady hands and reached for his T-shirt. His hair was mussed from undressing and now re-dressing but mostly from Sam’s hands and mouth and it shouldn’t make ugly possessiveness rise up in Sam but it did.

Eyes cast away and shoulders hunched, Dean’s body language screamed guilt and regret and Sam didn’t think he could just go back to not touching him. He opened his mouth to say something when Dean beat him to the punch.

“It’s late, I should... Goodnight, Sam.”

No ‘Sammy’ and that hit deeper than should be allowed. Dean might not even have meant anything by it but subconsciousness was a bitch and Sam inhaled shakily.

 _Stay_ , he wanted to say, yell. It was ready to rip out of his throat and maybe he should just let it but what he said instead was, “Yeah, sure. Night, Dean.”

Dean nodded, barefoot on the tiles and out the door, closing it just as softly as he had opened it and when it shut with a click something there sounded final.


End file.
